


The Cup

by Banapis



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 02:59:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16673437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banapis/pseuds/Banapis
Summary: The night requires a ritual and the Cardinal is far from home.





	The Cup

The cup wasn't the best he'd ever used.  It was somewhat cheap and decidedly crude.  He was used to far better back in the Ministry.  Still, this night required a ritual and he was far from home.  He had found the cup in a once hidden compartment in a shop near the center of this once prospering town.  Apparently, not all the citizens had been as upstanding as the leaders had claimed.

It had been a rough few days.  Hell, it had been a few rough weeks.  Some of the priests of that young, upstart god had started to band together and fight back (what did they call their god? Tasha? No. Yasha? Yesha? Did it really matter?  No, but he knew it would drive him insane trying to remember nevertheless.) He and his had claimed victory, but it been hard won more often than not.  It had also sometimes been harder than he'd like to admit.  That was unacceptable.

As he had more often lately, he found himself idly wondering if there was actually anyone - or anything - out there that paid any attention to his rituals as he stared at the cup in his hands.  He wondered if it wasn't just his sheer wickedness, as well as of that of his fellow clergy, that fueled the Church rather than devils and demons - not that he'd ever say that out loud.  One did not reach his position in the Church by voicing such things.  The word and might of the Church must be upheld, or at least the illusion of it.  

He put the cup in its place on his impromptu altar.  He opened a bottle of scavenged, but very decent, wine and pondered how it had ended up about as far from home as he was.  The thought made him a bit melancholy as he poured it into the cup and set the bottle aside. He missed the creature comforts the Ministry offered.  He was also more than a little tired of roughing it - the ever present dust and that damned rock that seemed to somehow follow him around and poke into his side most every night. He was particularly tired of the vile rations he lived on between towns. That, in his eyes, was more than enough reason to go on a killing spree, even without the edict of the Church. He lit a candle as he readied himself to begin.  

Despite his doubts and frustration, he found solace in the rituals, especially the solitary ones.  Here, he could drop the theater, not that there was anything wrong with spectacle. Here, he could also drop the mask and concentrate on deepening the connection to...whatever it was. He also couldn't deny that his own personal demons, the ones he hadn't been able to befriend or outright dominate through sheer willpower, grew quiet and still when he began the oft repeated words and motions.  He decided that was enough as he lifted the cup.

"Belial, Behemoth, Beelzebub..."

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a set of stories about our...well, not exactly *good* Cardinal as he travels across the land, fulfilling the mission of his Church. They are set in vaguely Medieval times and can be read independently.
> 
> There are also drawings that go with some of the stories, but I'm still getting the hang of posting here. If anyone wants to see them, just let me know.


End file.
